


Youth

by SuperJonnyBoy95



Category: The Collector Series (Movies)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Dehumanization, Force-Feeding, Kidnapping, M/M, Mental Anguish, Mental Breakdown, Mental Instability, Multi, Object Insertion, Objectification, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-19 05:33:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9420800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperJonnyBoy95/pseuds/SuperJonnyBoy95
Summary: Jon Reed, a 22-year old college student who's outlook on life is nothing but positive enters into a living nightmare. Will his positivity and will to live be an advantage or a detriment in this hell he now must call "home."





	

Darkness…

Where am I?

A man singing… a man screaming…

Where am I?

Heavy steps. Heavy breathes.

Who’s here with me?

 

Consciousness came back. I’m awake. It’s dark. It’s cramped. Dizziness set in and nausea soon followed. Damn my weak stomach.

Where am I? Why am I here? How to escape? I need to get my captors attention immediately.

“Hello?” I yelled as loud as I could but it came out as more of a raspy squeak. Dry throat. I need water. “Water?”

There was no sound that came back. I licked my lips and tried to wet my throat. “Water?” I said a little louder than before. Still nothing.

Okay, I shifted around in the space that I was cramped into. I positioned myself sitting up with my back curled against the side of the box and my knees bent in front of me touching the top. No part of me was bound or tied and that was a bad decision on the part of my captor, whoever they are.

I may look fragile but I was a competitor at a national level in MMA. By no means was I the best fighter but I wasn’t bad either. All I have to do is play sweet and frail till there’s an opening and then end this non-sense.

My nausea is almost gone and my world no longer feels like its spinning. I have my heart rate under control and I’m as calm as possible for the situation at hand. I still have so many questions. 

“Ay…” A whisper!

“Hello!” I shouted.

“Shh! No! No!” the voice shouted in a terrified whisper. “Don’t yell. Please don’t yell.”

“Can our captor hear us?”

Silence.

“Hey, I’ll start shouting again if you don’t start answering my questions.” I threatened. That sure got the voice riled up again.

It sounded like they were already sobbing just from those words. “No. Please. Don’t. Don’t shout.”

“Hey. Hey. No tears. Stay calm. Everything will be okay.” I said trying to make them feel secure. “What’s your name?”

A soft sob and then the voice responded “I’m J-John.” I chuckled which prompted John asked “What’s so funny?”

“I’m Jon too. Do you spell it with or without an h?”

“With.” He responded still softly whimpering. 

“Well then I’m going to call you H. If that is okay?”

“It doesn’t matter.” His voice began going up in pitch and his whimpers got louder.

“Of course it matters John. Names are important and I would never want to call you something that you wouldn’t want.”

He was silent except a few quiet sobs.

“So why didn’t you respond to me earlier John? When I was asking for water.”

Again, no response.

“What did I say about the silent treatment John?” As soon as I said that, all I could hear was a short plea, then screaming, and it was all followed by the sound of choking and gurgling. “John? JOHN?! JOHN!” The sounds just continued and I could hear him choking for air. “JOHN!! Is the captor here? Has he been here the whole time?”

The choking continued and a gurgled “Yes…” Came from across the room. My heart sank.

The gurgling continued accompanied by the sound of dripping for at least 2 minutes. Then from a far the sound of heavy boots got closer and closer. I tried to curl against the bottom of the box I was in, petrified. I could hear the sounds of dripping distantly but mostly, mostly I heard breathing. 

As if my captor’s mouth was right next to my ear. It’s then I realized just how severe the circumstances were.

I just might die here. 

I heard the click of a single lock and the top of the box opened slowly. It was more like a trunk actually. A figure in a black leather mask stood above me. Right hand covered in blood and lightly grasping a small Swiss army knife. I cringed.

From the sounds earlier I knew that he had slit John’s throat but with that little knife? Fucking Christ he really wants to make you feel ever second of your death. I cringed a little and closed my eyes. I felt a shadow settle over me as if he bent down. The feeling of a leather glove running into my long hair and grasping it tightly, yanking my head up to look at this monster. I opened my eyes and before me I saw the most terrifying sight. His eyes.

They were like the eyes of a natural predator. A shark, or a wolf. All I could do was breathe as deeply as possible without letting my fear blatantly show. This made the monster smile. He brought the knife forward and I tightened up. 

“Please don’t kill me…” I said very softly and quietly with my dry throat. A twinkle of excitement in his eyes but the knife still came forward until it was at my face. Tears welled up in my eyes as he rubbed the blood off the knife and onto my cheeks. I gagged at the scent of blood. It’s not that I couldn’t handle blood, I was constantly bleeding and wrapping other people’s cuts but this was the blood of a dead man. This blood used to provide life to someone and now it was smeared across my face as if I was the one who killed him. He heard the gagging and his attention went towards my mouth.

This was my opening. I grabbed onto the side of the trunk with my right hand for a little stability and began to raise my legs into the air to wrap around his neck. I was going to… “FUCK!” A sharp pain in my hand. I looked down to see the bloody Swiss army knife stabbed through it and into the wood of the trunk. His right hand covered in blood was inside my mouth. Two fingers reaching to the back of my throat as I could taste John’s blood. My gag reflect kick up and I reached at him with my left hand. He kept his fingers in my mouth and grabbed my arm with his left hand. He shifted to the side of the trunk right behind me. Fingers against the roof of my mouth holding it open as the blood from his palm was pressed on my nose. Left arm pulled above my head and outside the trunk. He put his heavy boot on my left shoulder and with a short but powerful jerk to my arm he dislocated it. I screamed in pain. He threw my motionless arm back into the trunk and went back to my mouth. 

He clearly didn’t want to do damage to me because in the position he had me, he could have torn all my muscle and ligaments but he did very minimal damage just to immobilize me. I was done fighting. I sunk down a bit and let my body go motionless. I lost hope that I was going to get an opening this time around. 

He found my uvula and squeezed. I vomited uncontrollably all over myself and his glove. The smile on his face was sick but prideful. He removed his hand from my mouth and rubbed most of the vomit from his glove into my hair. I let out another sob and I could tell he was pleased. He ripped the knife out of my hand and I only cringed slightly. He closed the lid of the box and there I was covered in vomit and blood. With a dislocated shoulder and a stab wound through my hand. 

The lock clicked close and I heard the heavy boots step across the floor.

“I won’t break…” I said quietly as warm tears rolled down my cheeks. “I can’t break…”  
I mumbled to myself, a soft sob breaking out of my mouth. I heard the boots across the room. I could only tell he exited the room because of the sound of the door closing and lock clicking. After he left the room it took me a few minutes to gain my composer. I sobbed for a bit and then calmed myself down.

I knew this wasn’t the worst of it but I had to always be ready. I pulled my pants off with one hand. Being careful not to let any vomit get on my open wound. The pants I was wearing were just tattered cloth. 100% cotton. I set them aside for a second while I focused on my shoulder. I grabbed the upper part of my arm and pressed it upward back into the socket. The pain was still there but I gained my mobility back. Focusing on the pants again, I found a hole near the bottom of one of the legs and tore a piece off. I wrapped that piece around my bloody hand and tightly tied it. I set the rest of the pants aside as I tried to remove my vomit covered shirt.

It took a lot of patience, awkward positioning, and carefulness to remove the shirt with as little mess as possible but I did it. I wrapped it up and set it in the corner of the box. I turned myself around in the box so that the vomit covered side was at my feet. I took what remained of the pants and flipped them inside out to wipe my hair and face. Then I put them right side out to use as a sling for my shoulder.

After that long process I sat in the darkness. Hours past. My stomach was in knots from hunger and occasionally I would gag on the scent of festering vomit. Thirst was killing me. My head throbbed and my body ached. Tiredness set in. I tried to fight it off but I couldn’t. The last conscious thought I could remember was… don’t die. Don’t get yourself killed.

**Author's Note:**

> The first of many chapters to come hopefully. I hope you enjoyed it and can't wait to write more for you. I hope to update weekly but if that gets to much I'll move to every week and a half or 2 weeks. Please let me know what you think and where you think the story should go, I'm always open to suggestions and listening to my readers.
> 
> Also, I was inspire to start writing this by a song and so the final outcome of the story is already written but if before the end anyone can tell me what the song is, you'll be my new best friend. :P
> 
> Much love,  
> SJB95


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